Adventures of Two Pirates
by chill13
Summary: The Pirate Captain and the Pirate with a Scarf have known each other longer than anyone would imagine. This series of short stories explores some of their first adventures as childhood friends to an unexpected reunion on the high seas. First up: the boy's first encounter with an actual pirate!
1. An Adventure with a Pirate

**1. An Adventure With a Pirate**

_Thunk!_

The boy ignored the sound and continued writing. While is right hand expertly maneuvered the expensive feather pen his left absently fingered the bright red scarf that draped around his neck. His grandmother sent him one every year. She worried about the cold sea wind giving him a chill.

_Thunk!_

A frown creased his forehead as he stared down at the paper, trying to keep his train of thought on the tracks.

_Thunk! Clack! _

He heaved a sigh that was half exasperation half resignation as he rose from the oak desk. Pushing aside the lace curtains he opened the window and poked his head outside. "Will you stop? Mother will hear you!". He hissed as loud as he dared.

One story below, right in the center of the flower bed stood a boy with red curls and a bright toothy grin. He dropped the large rock he had been about to throw. "You're mother's deaf as a stump," he called back with an unconcerned wave, not bothering to lower his voice. "And before you ask that penguin that answers your front door is out of the way too. Now come on! There's adventure to be had!"

The boy with the scarf sighed, sincerely disappointed. "I can't. I'm studying." He still kept his voice low. The son of a colonel in His Majesty's Navy was hardly allowed to fraternize with the mongrel boy of a sailor and a barmaid. Even if that boy was his cousin. If his parents ever discovered this friendship their reaction would certainly not be one of understanding.

"Oh, studying too much will make you're head explode." The redheaded young man said with just a hint of annoyance. "Besides..." His smile widened and his voice took on a conspiritory tone as he held up a large shovel. "Will studying ever make you rich beyond your wildest dreams?"

The boy with the scarf's eyes widened a bit. His family was already fairly wealthy and was among the upper middle class of the small port town. So it wasn't the prospect of wealth that made his spine tingle. His friend's words crackled with the promise of adventure. As always he couldn't resist. He glanced once over his shoulder before climbing out of the window.

The boy with the scarf nervously eyed the sign as they passed it. It read: 'NO TRUSPASIN' in red, dripping letters that easily could have been painted in blood. Underneath a skull and crossbones clearly announced the consequences of anyone foolish enough to disregard the warning. "Are you sure this is a good idea? They say he shoots at anyone who invades his land. I heard he even chased Doc Morgan away with a cutlass!"

"This is a _marvelous _idea." The redhead marched confidently ahead without even a glance at the sign. "And of course he shoots at people. He doesn't want them to find his treasure."

"What are we going to do if he catches us?" It wasn't that the boy with the scarf was skittish. In fact he had a calm courage beyond his nine years. But unlike his friend he was cautious and the questions he was asking were perfectly logical ones.

"He won't catch us." Said the redheaded boy as he tripped over a tree root and fell flat on his face. He bounded back to his feet and continued on as if nothing had happened. "The secret is stealth. But on the off chance that he does catch us we'll just use a simple combination of common reasoning and psychology. We'll just tell him that we know about his treasure and as he is an old man, who at the age of fifty is likely to die soon anyway, we would be happy to take that old treasure chest off his hands so he won't have to bother with it in his will."

It sounded like a rather dubious escape plan to the boy with the scarf. But at least it was a plan. "So how did you find out about this treasure, Captain?"

"I was in the tavern." The boy lived with his mother in a small room above the local drinking establishment. So he spent much of his time helping serve drinks and listening to the gossip, fish stories and tall tales told by the patrons. It was also the place where, as a very headstrong toddler, he had earned the nickname 'Captain'. "And I heard from a very reliable source that old Red Roy used to be a pirate!"

"Really?" Asked the boy with the scarf. He wasn't quite sure if any tavern goer could be called a 'reliable source'. The small harbor town was a relatively quiet place and its inhabitants mostly fishermen and sea loving gentry. And the harbor rarely got anything larger than the local fishing skiffs. So if this fellow was indeed a terror of the seven seas he was the most exciting person they had in their little village.

"Yep. And as a pirate he obviously has treasure. The whole idea of being a pirate is the treasure, you know. Well, that and not having to wash behind your ears. Pirate's mothers never tell them to wash behind their ears." He brushed some foliage aside as they continued through the wooded area.

"So how are we supposed to find this treasure?" The boy with the scarf tugged at the leather bag that hung over his shoulder as it became caught on a passing bush. Hopefully that bag would be filled with loot by the end of the day.

The Captain gave his friend a suspicious look as if wondering if he were really that stupid. But he quickly shrugged it off. "I suppose you wouldn't know anything about pirates with your head filled with all that useless book learning. You're going to have to do some emptying in there if you want to make room for important things. It would be difficult. Learning things can be heard, but unlearning them is as easy as falling off a pier."

The scarf-wearing boy frowned just a bit but didn't let the remark offend him. Instead he tried to keep his friend on topic—a very difficult thing to do at times. "Um…so how are we going to find this treasure again?"

"Everybody knows pirates hide their treasure under X's. Generally big read ones, unless the pirate in question's favorite color is green. Then it would probably be a green X." The redheaded boy prided himself on his knowledge of all things nautical. And pirates were the most nautical things he could think of, aside from anchors. Those were particularly nautical as well. The boy with the scarf wasn't exactly up on seafaring ways himself but he often wondered how accurate his friend's knowledge actually was.

"Okay." The boy with the scarf nodded, filing that information into his mind. "Look for a red X."

"Or a green one. Or any color for that matter. Well, perhaps not pink. Only a lady pirate would hide treasure under a pink. X. And old Red Roy is certainly not a lady pirate."

Just ahead the woods gave way and the two boys stopped gazing out at the clearing. The tall, unkept grass spanned from the tree line to an abrupt drop off and beyond sparkled the blue ocean. Right at the edge of the cliff, looking as if it were about to crumble into the sea was an old, lopsided pile of wood that if you squinted hard might pass for a small cabin.

The boy with the scarf quirked one side of his mouth skeptically. "If he has treasure why would he live there?"

The Captain stared at the old place, his hazel eyes sparkling. "It's just a front, you see. Devilishly clever. I'll bet he's got a mansion underneath it somewhere!"

The boy with the scarf smiled a bit. "I'm sure you're right, Captain." He seriously doubted there was anything under that shack but dirt. But it felt kind of cruel to say so when the Captain was so excited over the idea.

"Now, do you see any promising X's? Remember they're tricky little things and like to play hide and seek."

The boy with the scarf surveyed the area, looking for anything that might mark buried treasure. He didn't see anything.

"Ah! There it is!" The Captain strolled out into the open with no qualms about being seen.

The boy with the scarf slunk behind him. "Shouldn't we make sure he's not home first?"

"Look at the place!" He waved a hand toward the dilapidated building. "Why would he be up here peeking out of windows in that old wreck when he's got a whole mansion down there." His hand lowered a bit, pointing to the ground beneath the cabin.

"I suppose you're right." They younger boy said, sounding far less than sure.

"Of course I'm right. And here's where we'll dig." The Captain reached his destination and motioned proudly to the ground where two branches crossed each other, sitting conspicuously in the grass. It did indeed look like an X. The bark on the limbs even had a reddish hue.

The Captain shoved both hands on his hips and gave the boy with the scarf a pointed look. "Well, don't just stand there like a slice of toast! Get to digging!"

The boy with the scarf smiled a bit as he stabbed the shovel into the dirt. The 'Captain's nickname suited him perfectly. He was never really rude about it but he had no qualms about bossing others around. He was a leader. That was for sure.

The boy with the scarf had only been digging a few moments when the Captain rolled his eyes and snatched the shovel away. "You wealthy school types really don't know how to do anything useful do you?"

The boy with the scarf frowned just a little. But he couldn't really argue. This was the first time he had ever used a shovel and he might very well have been doing it wrong. The truth was he was so thin and so light he hardly had any leverage to push the shovel blade.

The Captain demonstrated the proper procedure, using his foot to push the blade into the thick soil. "You really need to learn how to dig properly." He insisted. "You just never know when you'll need a good hole."

The scarf-wearing boy watched closely and listened as his friend listed all the virtues of a decent shovel.

There was a rustle from behind and a shadow fell over them. The Captain was too busy digging to notice but the boy with the scarf whipped around with a gasp to see a giant of a man blocking out the sun before a huge meaty hand grabbed him around the waist, squeezing all the air from his lungs so quickly he couldn't even shout a warning. The Captain gasped and dropped his shovel as he was lifted off his feet, a giant hook where the man's hand should be piercing the collar of his red coat. The Captain struggled for a moment, dangling in midair, while the boy with the scarf kicked and squirmed with all his might.

The mans voice was like thunder. "What'er you two lubbers doin' digging up my land?!"

The Captain stopped struggling and tried to twist around to see the mountain that was holding him aloft. "We…We heard you needed an outhouse out here and thought we'd save you the trouble of digging the hole."

The pirate roared with laughter as loud as the waves in a storm. He clearly wasn't buying it. If they didn't get away he'd probably toss them both over that cliff over there. Struggling wasn't working so the boy with the scarf tried the next thing on the list. He bit down as hard as he could on the tan, hairy hand that gripped him. The pirate let out a lions roar and with a flick of his oak-like wrist sent the offender flying. The boy with the scarf tumbled through the air, collided head first with the nearest tree and crumpled bonelessly to the ground. The last thing he heard was a piercing shriek of "No!" from the Captain before everything went dark.

_Poke._

"He's not waking up. You've gone and broke him!"

_Poke._

"Let him be. He'll be alright."

_Poke._

"You better be able to fix him. You can't replace a best friend, you know."

_Poke._

"Quit pokin' him, lad!"

The boy with the scarf awoke to a headache and the sensation of being stabbed in the chest with someone's finger. He blinked his eyes open to find a very blurry redheaded figure hovering over him.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

The boy with the scarf blinked a few more times, his vision becoming gradually clearer. "Um…three?"

The Captain looked at the fingers he was holding up, counted them himself and then grinned triumphantly. "Right!"

"Ye alright lad?"

The scarf-wearing boy sat up straight when he saw the huge mountain-of-a-man sitting near the end of the cot. His skin was tanned and weathered and a gigantic curly, chocolate-brown beard spanned from his face to halfway down his chest. A dangerous-looking hook, polished till it sparkled, topped the end of his right arm where his hand should be. Seemingly to balance it out his left leg ended just above the knee, replaced by a long wooden peg.

"Sorry, fer tossin' ye, boy. But ye startled me." He held up his hand and there was a clear red mark where the boy had bitten him.

The boy with the scarf crinkled his nose a bit. The taste of hairy, sweaty pirate still lingered in his mouth. "_I_ startled _you_?"

"Don't judge me, boy. I don't fancy folks on me property. I was just tryin' to scare ye off."

"Because you're hiding a treasure, if I'm not mistaken?" Asked the Captain, not the least bit intimidated by the man that was likely ten times his size.

The big man squinted one eye dangerously. "And what makes ye say that?"

"You're a pirate." The Captain said matter-of-factly. "All pirates have treasure. Don't tell me you didn't know that. What kind of treasure do you have, by the way? I'm particularly fond of rubies. They're red, aren't they? Red is my favorite color."

Old Red Roy chuckled. "By Neptune's knickers, every pirate _should_ have treasure. And I've had plenty of treasure in me time."

The boy with the scarf relaxed a little. With a smile, even though it was missing a few teeth, the man didn't seem quite as dangerous as he had before. "But you haven't any now?" He ventured to ask.

"You two lads want a ham sandwich?" He bustled over to the one counter that made up his kitchen and pulled a huge, shiny cutlass out of nowhere and with two massive 'chops' that nearly split the counter in two he parted a couple of slices from a side of ham. Moments later he came back, handing each of the boys a plate. He sat down on the room's one chair and wiped the mustard from his saber.

"Thank you." The boy with the scarf said.

The Captain took a huge bite and tried to speak around his food. "So what's it like being a pirate?"

And he told them. He spun tales of the sea and the wind. Of ships, grand ships that crossed the oceans to places no man has ever seen. He told of islands and treasure maps and caves filled with mountains of gold. There were stories of sea battles, some won, some lost. He must have spoke for hours with the two boys hanging on his every word. The Captain's young face glowed, his eyes sparkling with these tales of adventure.

Soon it was time to go home. But they returned to the old cabin every time they got the chance to hear more. And every time old Red Roy would have some new piratical tip. "Every pirate needs a good nickname to strike fear in his enemies." And "ham is a pirates best friend" and "Take care of your beard, lad. His beard is a pirate's pride and joy."

Although the old pirate insisted he didn't like trespassers he always seemed delighted when the two boys came to visit.

One day, after hearing a particularly exciting story from their pirate friend the two boys were walking home, side by side.

The Captain stopped in his tracks, his brows lowered in thoughtful determination. "You know. When I grow up, and I'm nearly there you know, I'm going to be a pirate! Why, I'll be the best pirate captain to ever sail the seven seas! There are seven of them aren't there? I'll have my own boat and my own crew. And by Neptune I'll have treasure too! Lots of that. And cannons! Every good pirate ship has cannons." He turned to the younger boy as something brilliant seemed to strike him. "And _you_ can be my first mate! Every pirate captain needs a first mate, you know."

The boy with the scarf smiled. "Where would we sail first, Captain?"

**_This is the first in a series of short stories about the Captain and Scarf's early friendship. _**


	2. Goodbye

**Goodbye**_  
_

The boy with the Scarf hurried down the cobblestone street, looking over his shoulder now and then hoping his father hadn't seen him slip away. He couldn't be gone for long or he would be missed. It seemed to take forever to reach the docks and the tired old pub that hung at the edge of the harbor. The door creaked on rusty hinges as he pushed it open, praying that his friend would be there.

"Where in the name of Neptune's knickers have you been?" Said a voice from behind.

He let out a relived breath and turned around. Thank goodness he was here.

The boy with the wavy red hair was known to most of the townsfolk as 'The Captain', a pet name given to him by the patrons of the little harbor pub where he did his best to help his mother wait tables. He shoved both hands on his hips and did his best to look put out. "I've been throwing rocks at your window for a week. I was about ready to storm the house and break you out. I even had the gunpowder ready and all."

"I was grounded." The boy with the scarf explained hurriedly. "I don't have much time. I have to tell—"

"Ah. Grounded. I've heard of it before. Sounds dreadful. So how was Kingdom Come?"

The younger boy looked puzzled.

"You remember. After our Adventure With the Fireworks your father said if he ever saw you near me again he would tan your hide from here to Kingdom Come. I'm beginning to think he's not particularly fond of me. Was it a good trip?"

The scarf-wearing boy rolled his eyes and sighed. "Not particularly. But listen-"

"Pity." And with that he instantly changed subjects. "Now I was thinking if we could borrow Mrs. Miller's cat, a bottle of cod liver oil and your mother's dressing gown-"

"I can't." The boy with the Scarf said quietly.

"Well, if not your mother's dressing gown we could do with your father's underpants. You see-"

"I'm going away." The boy with the scarf interrupted he had to explain before he ran out of time.

"Well, be back before next Wednesday." The Captain said, completely unconcerned. "The fellow who owns the Flounder Inn is due to shave his beard and you can't miss that."

"I'm not coming back."

The young redhead stiffened, eyeing his friend suspiciously as if not quite sure he was being serious. "You can give people indigestion by saying things like that."

"My father's sending me to boarding school. I tried to talk him out of it. But after what happened he wouldn't listen to me." For years his parents would warn him to watch his friends. 'Play with the nice boys' they would say. 'And stay away from that mongrel son of a barmaid'. His cousin may have been the part of the family that no one ever claimed but he was the most adventurous person the boy with the scarf had ever seen and from the moment they met they had been the best of friends. They had tried to keep their escapades low whenever the scarf-wearing boy's was home on leave. But this time they had been careless and it had ended in disaster. Father had discovered their long-time friendship and had taken immediate and drastic measures.

The Captain blinked. "Boarding school? You mean that terminally boring place where they teach you to be a gentleman or some such nonsense?"

The boy with the Scarf nodded slowly.

"Well we can't let you endure that! I heard of a lad who went to boarding school once and came out a lawyer! I hear they don't even have ham there!" The Captain grabbed his friend by the scarf and started for the harbor. "We'll stow away on one of the ships and become pirates. They'll never find you!"

The boy with the Scarf dug his feet in and held his ground causing the Captain to be yanked back. "I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?" The Captain shoved his hands on his hips, clearly not taking his friend's refusal seriously. "You don't want to be turned into a plucked popinjay do you? Come on!"

The boy pulled his scarf back. "I...I just can't." He swallowed hard as his throat tightened he felt as if he were being torn in two. "Please understand."

The young Captain looked as if he had been struck as the gravity of the situation finally hit him. "You're not really going to leave?" After a long moment of silence his ginger eyebrows lowered accusingly. "You're doing that tiresome 'responsible' thing again aren't you? Now listen here, you can't go." His voice quickly became pleading. "There's far too many important adventures we haven't had yet! Maybe your father would change his mind if we gave him a big ham!"

The younger boy sighed and shook his head at his friend's last-ditch suggestion. "As vital as it is…ham doesn't solve everything." He turned sharply as a voice called him from somewhere down the street. "It's father. He must have the carriage ready. I'm sorry. I have to go. I will miss you." He held out a hand and gave his friend a teary smile.

The Captain could feel something hot coming into his eyes and his chest tightened. He slapped the younger boy's had away. "Traitor! If I had a real live ship I'd throw you overboard into a school of guppies!"

The boy with the scarf backed up a step, startled at the sudden anger. His father's voice called again. He couldn't leave now. Not with the Captain like this. But his father called again and he turned and ran.

The Captain continued shouting as the younger boy disappeared around the corner. "And you'd be nibbled to death and live the rest of your life inside a thousand little fish! Which is _not_ fun!" Soon he found himself standing in the middle of the street shouting at no one. "Some crew you turned out to be! Defector! Sea slug! _SISSY!_" He kicked at the pub's rain barrel as hard as he could and threw a discarded whisky bottle at the street where it exploded, scattering broken glass in all directions. He let out a distressed sob and leaned heavily against the pub wall.

He had lost his only friend. Sure a few of the pub's customers were friendly to him, and he had his mother. But it wasn't the same. Who would he go on adventures with? Who would sit on the old dock with him eating ham sandwiches and watching the boats come in? Who was going to be his first mate when he got a ship of his own? Who was he going to…talk to?

His head snapped up at the sound of a carriage in the distance. And he ran. His ragged boots pounded the cobblestones and his patched red jacket waved behind him as he flew through the streets, barely noticing the horse he sent rearing or the gentleman he toppled over as he rounded a corner. He reached the edge of town and kept running, his feet finding the one road that lead inland. At the top of a rise he staggered to a stop.

The carriage clip-clopped away at a swift pace. He would never catch it.

The boy with the scarf turned in his seat, looking over his shoulder and their eyes met for one brief moment. Then the carriage turned a corner and was gone.


	3. Homecoming

The young man with the red scarf leaped hurriedly off the carriage. He had been riding in the thing from the break of dawn and was quite happy to be out of it. But he was even happier about where he was. He took a deep breath, smelling the crisp ocean air that was only slightly tainted by the fishy smell that wafted up from the docks. In the three years he had been gone the little harbor town had not changed a bit. But he had. He was much taller than the little boy that had left for boarding school what felt like an eternity ago.

He could have gone home first. His loving mother and his father, a captain in his Majesty's Navy, were no doubt awaiting his arrival. But there was one thing he wanted to do first. Something his family wouldn't approve of. Something that set his stomach in knots.

As his feet found their way down the rough cobblestone streets he wondered how this would go. Three years ago he had left a very dear friend angry and hurt. He had tried to explain that he had to go to boarding school and no matter how much his friend pleaded he simply couldn't run away. There had been heated words and that's how he had left. For three years it had been eating at him. He would have written to apologize and better explain why he had to leave. But it wouldn't have done any good. His friend couldn't read. In retrospect he could have sent the letter to someone else and had them read it to him. But hindsight is 20/20.

The cobblestones were replaced by an old boardwalk whose boards creaked under his feet. In the cool damp air of the docks the smell of old fish and rotting wood was overpowering. The docks were fairly empty and he met no one as he walked. The only sounds were the gentle lapping of the waves against a couple of moored fishing skiffs and the occasional gull.

The old pub looked just as old and rundown as it had when he left. Perhaps even more so. The sign above the door had lost a nail and now hung crooked. By looking at it one would think that it was surely abandoned. But the door stood partly open and he could hear laughter and an accordion from inside.

He glanced one way and then the other, making sure the streets were clear. He didn't mind so much himself but if his father ever heard he had gone into such a seedy place he would never hear the end of it. Not to mention that his mother was liable to have a conniption. But no one seemed to be about so he pushed the door and cringed as its rusty hinges let out a long grating screech.

Everyone in the dingy little room turned to see who had come in the door. He smiled gently, removed his hat and went straight to the bartender. "Excuse me."

The old Irish man grinned at him. "Say, ye'r Mason's boy aren't cha?"

The young man with the scarf nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"Just got back from school didje? Becha wanna whet yer whistle after such a long trip." He began to pull the stopper from a bottle of unidentifiable spirits.

The young man with the scarf held up a hand. "Actually I'm just looking for the Captain."

The bartender smiled and waved a hand toward the customers. "Which one?" Half of them were captains of local fishing boats. Suddenly the old man's face changed and he became suddenly serious. "Oh…Ye want the boy. That's right. Ye two were mates."

The scarf-wearing young man did not like the change of tone at all.

From what he had gathered over his association with 'the Captain' it seemed his friend was born in this very tavern, the son of a barmaid. He had grown up there as well and very early on his demanding and sometimes downright bossy nature as a child had earned him the nickname 'the Captain'. It was what everyone called him, even his mother. And even though the two of them had been best friends the young man with the scarf didn't know his real name.

He frowned, noting the quiet murmurs that had risen in the pub at the mention of his friend. "Where is he?"

The bartender sighed heavily and leaned both hands on the bar as if he had to brace himself to talk about it. "Just a couple months shy of three years ago his ma took sick. She was a nice lass, you know. A bit on the loony side but…well, we were all worried for her. The little Captain took it hard. He had this plan to call all the doctors in England with a…" He shook his head. "Well, you remember the Captain's plans. Always grand but never making a bit of sense." The old man paused for a moment and looked down at the bar. "It was midnight and the worst storm ye ever saw. We called Doc Morgan and he rode all the way out here in the rain and lightnin'. But there was nothin' any of us could do. I tell ye, it was the saddest thing you ever saw, that little lad tryin' to talk her into stayin'."

The young man managed to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat long enough to ask. "Where is he now?"

The old Irish man slowly shook his head. "Don't know. Soon as it hit him that his ma wasn't comin' back he took off out that door." He pointed to the old rusty, creaking thing that lead outside. "We chased after him but with the rain and the wind…" He shrugged. "That's the last anyone saw of the little fellow."

The young man with the scarf closed his eyes and let his head sink to his chest.

The bartender watched him for a long moment then pulled the stopper on his bottle and poured a bit of the amber liquid into a glass. "Here, lad. On the house."

The young man cleared his throat before he could speak. "No…thank you. I'd best be on my way."

The Captain had been just a boy when he had left. Where could he have gone? Where was he now? These questions ran over and over the scarf-wearing young man's mind as he picked his way along the rocky shore, the waves of high tide lapping at him as he hopped stones. At last he made it to the cave. This was where the Captain would have gone that night he was sure of it. It had been a haven to both of them, a place no rational adult would think of going. The path was precarious and one couldn't avoid getting wet. Something deep inside him churned as he imagined his friend trying to navigate this path through teary eyes and a violent storm. Had he even made it this far? Waves along this coast were always massive and violent during turbulent weather.

He tried to push such pessimistic thinking from his head. The Captain had always been a resilient boy.

The cave itself was damp but safely above sea level and there he found what he had been looking for. The place looked much the same as the last time he had seen it except it seemed a whole lot smaller. The old canvas tarp was spread across the floor and the horse skull was still sitting in the corner where the Captain had proudly chosen to display it.

With a wavering sigh he sat heavily onto the nearest rock dropped his face into his hands, a wave of guilt crashing over him just as the waves crashed upon the black rocks outside. The Captain's mother had died scarcely two months after he had left. He should have been there. For all the Captain's bragging and pluck he was deep down a sensitive fellow and the young man with the scarf could only imagine how he would have needed a close friend. If only he had known he would have found a way to come home.

How long had the Captain sat in this cave, alone, wondering what to do next? The question pulled at his insides until he thought he would choke.

He reached down and raked his fingers through the sand until they hit something square and solid. With a couple of quick strokes he brushed off the old cigar box, opened the lid and smiled sadly. The Captain's treasure. There were bits of colored glass, metal scraps, a glass bead, a couple of genuine marbles, a few brass buttons and one real doubloon. His first thought was that he wished it were empty. Surely a boy would never leave his most prized possessions. And the thought that the Captain may have never reached the cave crossed his mind again. But then he noticed that there was something missing from the hideout. The sword. Well, it wasn't really a sword, simply a brass hilt that had once been attached to a sword. It was the Captain's favorite thing and if he were planning to go on an adventure he would surely take it with him. He was out there somewhere, hilt in hand, ready to take on the world.

He smiled just a little as he looked at the contents of the box, remembering the adventure that went with each trinket. Suddenly his heart rose up into his throat as he realized those adventures were over and there wouldn't be anymore.

He took a deep breath and wiped at his eyes. His parents were still waiting for him to arrive and were no doubt beginning to worry. Burying the cigar box back in the sand, he left everything just as it should be. He glanced at the cave one last time before heading back along the shore. He would probably never see it again…He was to join the Navy tomorrow.


	4. Reunion

**Reunion**

The young sailor squinted through the looking glass, his eyes straining to see beyond the bank of mist that had rolled in out of nowhere. He shivered just a bit in the chill that accompanied the fog grateful for the red scarf that kept his neck from the cold and the wet. It was non-regulation, of course which was why he kept it hidden under his crisp Navy uniform. His doddering old grandmother made him one every year, always red and always warm, and he couldn't remember a time he had been without one. His father, an admiral in Great Britton's fleet, would not approve of him wearing it on ship, of course. His father didn't approve of anything that wasn't strictly Navy.

The Sailor with the Scarf blinked a bit and twisted his spyglass, certain he had seen a shadow amidst the grey cloud. But as soon as he focused on it it vanished. He lowered the glass for a moment and rubbed his eyes. He had been on watch for a long time, perhaps he was seeing things. But as he raised the glass once more he took in a small breath and whirled around, cupping both hands around his mouth. "Pi—"

BOOM!

A large hunk of the railing exploded in a shower of splintering wood as a cannonball tore through it and embedded itself in the deck. Cries of 'we're under attack', 'pirates!', 'every man for himself!' and 'I lost my shoe!' rang throughout the ship.

The Sailor with the Scarf hurried down the steps to the main deck and met Captain Thompson just as he came out of his cabin. "We're under attack, sir!"

"Yes, I can see that." The Captain looked up just as the yardarm cracked in two sending the sail billowing down to the deck. He glanced casually at the pirate ship to the port and marched purposefully starboard with the young sailor at his heels.

"What's our plan of defense, sir?" The Sailor with the Scarf ducked as a cannonball flew over his head and took out the ship's wheel.

Captain Thompson swung a dingy out over the water and hopped into it. "That's up to you lad." He gave a rope a pull and the tiny boat lowered into the water below. "I'll leave you in charge."

The Sailor with the Scarf's mouth hung open in complete disbelief. "You-you're not abandoning ship!"

"That's the plan, boy." The Captain pushed the dingy away from the ship with an oar. "This whole, being attacked by pirates thing…well, it's just not me. I'm sure I'd get blood on my uniform sooner or later."

"This ship…this crew, they're you're responsibility! How can you just—"

"Hey! I just gave you the promotion of your life. You should be thanking me." Captain Thompson's voice faded as he disappeared into the mist.

The Sailor with the Scarf let out an angry huff feeling betrayed and a bit overwhelmed. Nonetheless he turned and began shouting orders to the crew. They were technically Navy but the ship was small and they were carrying nothing of value so they were ill prepared for the unprovoked attack.

"Yeeehaaaah!" Seemingly from out of nowhere a streak of red swept through the air and landed squarely on the railing of the upper deck. The man cut quite a figure with his cutlass raised, red coat tails flapping in the breeze and the most luxuriant red beard the Sailor with the Scarf had ever laid eyes on. Several other pirates swung in behind the red-clad pirate.

The Sailor with the Scarf, quite aware of his new responsibilities stepped forward. "Who are you and what do you want?"

In reply the luxuriantly bearded pirate leaped from the railing, executing a perfect flip before landing on the lower deck, his cutlass now aimed at the young sailor's face. "I'm the Pirate Captain and I'm here for your gold!"

He forced himself not to flinch, his brows lowering defiantly. "We're not that kind of ship." He managed to keep his voice steady even though he was extremely aware of that sharp bit of steel only inches away from him. "And I would appreciate it very much if you would leave.._now_."

"All in good time." The Pirate Captain said breezily as he lowered his sword. "I think we'll do a little looting first. That's the sort of thing pirates generally do, you know."

"I'm sorry, but I can't allow that."

"Ooh! Is that a challenge?" The Pirate Captain seemed quite delighted by the idea.

The young sailor drew his sword. He didn't really want to fight but he couldn't let this pirate take over his ship either. "I'm afraid it is."

"Oh, good! I haven't had a one of those yet!" The Pirate Captain swung his cutlass and steel met steel with a resounding 'CLANG'.

"I can't imagine a pirate like you not having been challenged before." The sailor said as he deftly deflected the Captain's blows.

"Well, it's never really been official." The Captain's blade whipped through the air, just missing the young man's midsection. "Usually they just come at me with something pointy with not so much as a 'how de do'. Quite rude if you ask me."

The Sailor with the Scarf found himself giving ground. The Pirate Captain's attacks were unpredictable and therefore rather difficult to counter. "Well, I'm sure you have to consider their position." He kicked a keg of gunpowder over in an attempt to force the Captain back. "One often dispenses with pleasantries when one is attacked by pirates. It's rather a victim's prerogative."

"I suppose so." Their battle moved across the deck and under the fallen sail. It was like a giant tent, diffused light giving the space an eerie glow. "You don't have any ham on this ship do you? We're always looking for ham."

The Sailor with the Scarf, still backing up slashed a hole through the canvas and leaped through it, the Captain following close behind. There was suddenly something oddly familiar about this pirate. "Ham?"

"All pirates like ham." He explained as metal clashed and he forced the younger man backwards up the steps to the poop deck. "You're quite good. But you might as well give up now. I'm a whole lot bigger than you are."

"What do you really want?"

"Treasure, of course. The whole idea of being a pirate is the treasure, you know. Well, that and not having to wash behind your ears."

The young sailor took in a sudden gasp feeling as if he had been struck by lightning. He had heard those exact words before…years ago. Two voices echoed in his head, the one of the Pirate Captain and the one from memories gone by. The voices were almost identical, one was just a bit higher…younger. Pictures flashed through his mind in rapid succession: digging for treasure, fireworks, ham sandwiches by the docks, the old tavern, rocks clanging against his window. In all off those pictures one face stood out. And suddenly he knew exactly who this pirate was. "Captain…?"

"That's 'Pirate Captain' to you." The Captain swung his cutlass, managing to disarm his opponent and take several buttons off his uniform at the same time.

With a 'clang' the young sailor's sword flew from his hand, clattering to the deck far beyond his reach. He stumbled backward as the pirate advanced…a pirate that now looked so familiar. The red hair, the large ears the ridiculous self-confidence. Why hadn't he seen it before? He suddenly found himself backed against the ship's railing with the Pirate Captain only a couple feet away, cutlass raised. He closed his eyes and braced himself, wishing things could be different. The Captain would never know he had killed his childhood friend and perhaps it was better that way. The young sailor waited to feel the blade thrust into him hoping it would be quick. Nothing happened.

"W-where did you get that?"

The sailor opened his eyes to find the Pirate Captain staring quite intensely at his chest. Puzzled he looked down. His blue jacked had been torn open and his red scarf had fallen out contrasting brightly against the rest of his uniform. "From my grandmother." He answered simply.

"She.." The Captain suddenly seemed to struggle for words. "…She doesn't happen to visit you once a year smell like snuff and walk like a duck?"

The Sailor with the Scarf couldn't help but let out a tiny laugh. The Captain had always made fun of his grandmother's doddering walk. "Yes, Captain, that's her."

His reddish brows lowered in thought. "I used to know a lad who…"

The Sailor with the Scarf smiled a little.

The Captain's eyes met his and held there for a long moment in an expression that the Sailor with the Scarf couldn't read. They had not exactly parted on good terms. In fact it had been their only true fight. Even as a child the Captain had quite a temper and the Sailor with the Scarf didn't know how long the fellow held a grudge. He wasn't entirely certain that this man wasn't about to run him through.

Suddenly he found himself smothered in a bone-crushing hug. After a moment the Captain dropped him and shoved him back. "Where in the name of Neptune's nanny have you BEEN?" The Captain fairly exploded. "I really thought you were clever enough to escape from some silly old school."

The young sailor grinned. "I'm sure you could have done it in a day, sir."

"Do you know how many schools I broke into searching for you?" The Captain twiddled his fingers trying to come up with the exact amount.

The Sailor with the Scarf blinked startled by this unexpected piece of information. "You…came looking for me?"

"Of course! Well, not right away…I thought you might come to your senses…but I wasn't about to let them turn you into some sort of turned up nose with a top hat and cane. You're stuffy enough as it is!"

The Sailor with the Scarf laughed. "I've missed you too." At the sound of gunfire and clashing swords he peeked over the railing to the lower deck. "Um…perhaps we should stop that, sir."

"Oh, yes. Quite forgot about them." He cupped both hands over his mouth and shouted. "Alright, you coves! I think we've made our point! Don't want to overdo it!"

The Sailor with the Scarf, too, shouted a command at the crew below. "That's enough, lads!"

The ship was almost instantly silent. Weapons fire stopped, swords froze in midair, a couple pirates dropped the sailor they had been about to toss overboard and the Pirate with the Accordion haulted his rousing marching song. Everyone on deck turned and stared at the two men in silent confusion.

"Um…sorry about the holes and such." The Pirate Captain motioned about the ship where cannonballs had torn through the hull. "A little glue and a few boards ought to patch those up in no time." Then he addressed his crew directly. "Well, lads, don't just stand there like marmalade! They could use some help." And as simple as that the two crews went about repairing the ship. Satisfied, the Pirate Captain turned to the young sailor. "So…how've you been?"

"Can't complain."

"I see you've joined the Navy."

The sailor shrugged. "Father wouldn't have it any other way."

"Ah. So, how would you and your crew—this is your crew?"

"Well, sort of."

"How would you and your crew like a good ham dinner after all this excitement?"

"Sounds fine."

Ham Night was over, both ships had been repaired and it was time to say goodbye. Both crews had grown rather fond of each other and there were a lot of handshaking and back slapping between them.

"Well, lad it was good seeing you again." The Pirate Captain gave the Sailor with the Scarf a brisk slap on the back that nearly sent him overboard.

The young man smiled, a hand on the rope that would swing him back to the Navy ship where the rest of the ship's crew waited for him. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice from cracking. "Um…I'm sorry we couldn't help with your treasure."

"Actually I was looking for a new compass." The Captain said with a shrug. "My old one kept pointing towards New Zealand. But 'I'm here for your gold' sounds so much more dramatic than 'I'm compass shopping', don't you think?"

The Sailor with the Scarf chuckled a little. "Much. Although, there's something to be said for being specific. Here." He pulled a shiny brass compass from his pocket and tossed it at the Captain. "We had best be off." He gave a resigned sigh. "We are supposed to be at the Indies by next Sunday." He stepped up onto the railing and prepared to swing.

"Wait. Just…hold on a bit." The Pirate Captain fiddled with the compass for a moment, not actually looking up at the sailor. "Now that you mention it there is something else this ship needs."

The Sailor with the Scarf waited patiently.

"You see I've never really found a proper first mate. Every ship needs a first mate, you know. Someone to look after things the Captain can't be bothered with—like the weather and making sure the ship is pointing in the right direction and such. No one seems quite right for the job…I mean there was the fellow who was always telling those awful fish jokes, and then that other fellow who kept running us aground, and don't even get me started on the chap who kept telling me to shave my beard! So if you happen to know anyone who has been looking for a career change there's a position open."

The Sailor with the Scarf grinned and hopped down from the railing releasing the rope and letting it swing back to the other ship unaccompanied. "Boatswain!" He shouted across the gap. "You're in charge until the captain returns. I won't be back!"

With that he turned back to the Pirate Captain. "Shall we set sail, sir?"

The pirate crew broke into a roaring cheer, cutlasses waving and hats flying.

The Pirate Captain threw an arm around his first mate, any discomfort he had displayed a moment ago had completely vanished. "Come on, Number Two, let me give you the guided tour."

The Pirate with the Scarf gave his Captain an odd look. " 'Number Two'?"

"Naturally. You see, as Captain I'm Number One. So as you are the next fellow down, according to the strict laws of numbers and things, you would be Number Two. You know, you're a lot taller than I remember."

Number Two just smiled and shook his head a bit. In all these years nothing had changed.

"Lets start off with the boat's wheel, shall we?" The Pirate Captain leapt up the few steps to the upper deck. "Alright, lubbers! Let's get this old girl moving!"

The crew cheered enthusiastically and hurried to drop the sails.

"So, where are we heading, sir?" The Pirate with the Scarf stood beside the Captain, watching as he shifted the boat into drive.

"I thought we'd start for South America! I hear they've an entire city made entirely out of gold! We could probably fit a few sidewalks on the boat, don't you think? Maybe a building or two."

The Pirate with the Scarf took a deep breath, feeling the wind at his back and watching the sparkling horizon ahead. "Sounds like a grand adventure, sir!"


End file.
